Putting the Pieces Together
by Another Writer Who Loves
Summary: A wounded from a hunt Mary Campbell takes her battered car to a garage where John Winchester works. Knowing that he shouldn't John can't help but immediately be attracted to her and once he starts to learn her past, he has no intention of leaving her. In fact, he wants to be a part of it.
1. Chapter 1

Mary had to bring her knee up to drive the steering wheel and her hand up to smack her face before bringing it back down.

Her body throbbed in pain, each one sending a dull flinch through her. She gripped the steering wheel tightly with her good hand, her useless one at her side gangling. She could feel the beginnings of her eye swelling and the cuts on her lips stung. Every breath she took cause her ribs to move, almost rattling in her chest, and she was on her period.

She tightened her grip and continued to search for a mechanic.

Her baby, her impala, was in worse shape than she was; broken front lights, windows in all but one were broken and sprayed around the seats, the front of the car was caved in, the sides scratched and pieces practically torn off, the engine had been smashed and it was only through prayer and coaxing that it was working, albeit with hiccups and almost gasps as she continued to try to breathe.

Even through the pain Mary couldn't help but smile, her old girl hadn't given up on her yet and neither could Mary, she would see to her baby getting fixed before anything else, she earned and deserved that at least.

"I'm sorry darling." she murmured wanting to reach out and stroke the dashboard but not willing to take her hand off of the wheel again. "I'll take care of you, make sure you get all better."

Her vision swam again and she brought her hand up to smack at her face once more, quickly going back to grip at the steering wheel when her car almost swerved off the road.

Logically, she knew that she should go to the hospital first. She knew that she could take care of herself and the car second, but no part of her wanted that.

Her car was important, it meant more than her life to her.

The road was bumpy and full of potholes, causing her to jostle and grit her teeth. Each time she was half thrown forward and it made something inside of her move along and whatever it was, hurt a lot.

A suddenly deep pothole appeared and she jammed into it, causing her to slam forward half into the steering wheel and gasping as that made something sharp jam into something and...

This was the third time her vision swam she felt her throat close up and she almost threw up, coughing hard as she felt something inside of her crack.

Something was broken, something most likely important, maybe a bone and it was being pressed into an organ that was most likely going to rupture and kill her.

But, car first. Car comes first.

She almost felt like crying in relief when she finally managed to stumble onto a stop whose sign was still open, pressing a bit too eagerly on the gas and heaving to slam on the brakes to stop. Panting slightly at the jump of adrenaline she honked the horn, breathing out easily and ignoring the pain as the gate churned up and she drove forward.

Once she knew that her car was going to be okay and repaired properly, then she'd go to the hospital.

**I do not own Supernatural.**

**22/366**

**I do take requests so if you have requests you can send them to me.**

**I know this is short but I'm tired and the next chapters will be longer.**


	2. Chapter 2

The sound of the engine outside was the first thing John noticed. The second thing he noticed was horn strained and almost broken it sounded.

Frowning he looked up from the Mustang he was working on and glanced at the source, feeling his jaw drop.

He was sure that it was a beautiful car underneath the twisted and broken metal, and he was quite sure that was blood covering one side of the car. He was in such a state of shock, and he wasn't the only one practically every man on the floor had looked towards the noise and weren't able to look away from the mess that once was a car, that he noticed the woman through the windowless dashboard second.

She stumbled out of the car, the door breaking and he could hear the tinkling of the glass when she closed the door and leaned against the car for a moment before pushing herself off and limping forward.

She looked as broken as the car and John swore that she was just as beautiful. Her blonde hair was matted with blood and he recognized that her left arm was dislocated as it dangled at her side, she swayed on her feet as if she was about to lose consciousness and John almost automatically readied himself to run forward and grab her so she wouldn't fall.

The woman seemed to steel herself as she stood up straighter and walked, hobbled, to Brian who was the closest to her and stared up at him.

"I would like to get my car fixed." she said in a clear, melodic yet obviously pain filled voice. The words were so obvious and at the same time so ludicrous that John couldn't help but laugh and thankfully he wasn't the only one. He quickly stopped however when he saw the woman narrow her eyes in annoyance.

Brian nodded and reached out to gently take her by the good shoulder, eyes softening. He was an older man, he already had a grandchild, and the girl looked around the age of his youngest daughter.

"Let's get you a seat, maybe some water." he said comfortingly, throwing a meaningful look at Tom who quickly scurried off to get the water.

The girl glared at him and yanked her shoulder away from him, that was a mistake John saw as she drew in a quick breath, her rapid movement jostling her injuries. She took another deep breath and looked Brian in the eyes.

"I want to get my car fixed." she repeated firmly, her tone unwavering.

Brian hesitated but ultimately nodded, motioning for John and Chris to come forward and start to bring the car, figuring the sooner they start working on the car the sooner the girl would let them help her.

John slid into the driver's seat and shifted in his seat immediately, hoping that his clothes would help prevent the glass from cutting into him. Thankfully she hadn't turned the engine off, in all honesty, he wasn't sure if the car would start again if they turned it off. He drove it carefully, trying to ignore the woman's heavy and almost predatory gaze on him as if daring him to do a single wrong move on her car.

Swallowing the sudden lump in his throat he shifted as much as he dared in the seat and slowly drove it onto a platform. He stepped out and Chris pressed the button to lift it. Miraculously the bottom of the car wasn't that bad, a few dents and bangs but they would need to take it all apart before putting it back together, hopefully.

He couldn't help but glance back at the woman, she was swaying again and her eyes were going out of focus as Brian continued to try to talk to her. Abruptly she walked away, going towards the wall. She moved her body so that her dislocated shoulder was facing the wall. John realized what she was going to go when she obtained a stubborn look on her face and he bit down on the side of his cheek as she threw herself against the wall.

He could almost hear the shoulder pop back into place and he saw her legs buckle, her face simultaneously paled and blanked, John swore that she lost consciousness for that moment and she quickly straightened up, moving her arm and trying to get feeling back into the limb and rubbing it up and down with a small sigh.

She walked back to Brian, who himself was looking pale and a touch sick to his stomach, and started to talk to him lowly, gesturing to her car.

John couldn't help but watch her, one hand touching the side of the car. Now that she had regained the use of both of her arms she was gesturing almost wildly, but not bringing them up too high or too fast, he noticed, a fire in her eyes. It was almost impossible to look away from her.

He caught a few words of their hushed conversation, words like "hospital", "car", "help", "first", swam past him. When Brian looked up at him he quickly busied himself with picking out the larger pieces of glass out of the seat, not wanting to cut his hand by sweeping them out.

The woman limped to one of the chairs leaning against the wall and all but collapsed in it, relief of sitting clear on her face while still tinged with pain that hinted at more unseen wounds.

John shared a look with Chris whose attentions were completely on the car, he was always able to focus the best on one problem at a time and just wondered where to even begin fixing the car. He motioned to John to start the windows and he dutifully started to carefully pull the windows, or rather the remains of the windows, out.

Once the windows were done and pulled out he got the sledge hammer and handed it to Chris as they traded places and he rolled his sleeves up and took a look under the dented hood to see what remained of the engine and see what he could coax from it.

The collaborator and the transmission would need to be replaced, the oil almost completely gone, the battery recharged; maybe even replaced completely as well, he could hear not a hiccup anymore but almost a gasping as the engine slowly managed to work.

Bringing his head up he eyed the inside of the car, the ruined leather seats, the beaten and destroyed interior and exterior, just the fact that it is a damn miracle that the car was still running and the amount of work that needed to be done for the hope for the car to live again, it would cost less to get a new car instead of fixing it.

He straightened up and cast a look over the car as if he could fix it through the sheer will of his gaze alone and shook his head, glancing at the girl who was awake but slumped in the seat.

John went to the lunchroom for a moment, snagging a cup as he did and filled it with cool water. Gathering his courage he walked back out and went to the girl.

She blinked rapidly as he reached her, sitting gingerly next to her and wordlessly offering her the water. She gingerly took the water with a muttered "Thanks," and carefully sipped from it, her eyes going back to the car.

John waited a moment before he started to speak. "The car is in a real bad shape." he said gently, eyeing her wounds as well. "Were you in a car accident?"

She gave a grunt, not answering and not conforming to anything, not looking away.

He waited a beat before continuing. "It's going to be a lot to fix it, a lot of time and a lot of money, we don't have most of the parts so they're going to have to be ordered in."

She still don't move to look at him but he could see her eyes narrowed and her hands tighten around the cup.

"All I'm saying is, it might be better if you forget about fixing-"

"No."

It was curt, to the point, and immediately grabbed his attention and refused to let go.

"Ma'am, it's just a car." he continued gently. "It would just be in your better interest to at least consider-"

"I said," she clipped, voice as firm and unwavering as stone as she finally turned to look at him, her gaze pinning him in his place. "No."

John felt the breath left his body as his eyes locked with hers. Those greens orbs almost felt like they were stripping him away, revealing his bare soul, that she was able to see the sins he had committed. The church goer that his mother had attempted to cultivate stirred inside of him and for a moment he had to fight the urge to fall to his knees and beg forgiveness for his past regressions. He was so completely enthralled and captivated by her eyes that he barely realized that she was speaking.

"I don't care about the cost and I don't care how long it takes." she continued., keeping her gaze on him. "Just fix my car."

John swallowed heavily, trying to work past the lump in his throat and managed to slowly nod. He wanted to...he needed to...

He wondered how those eyes would look on him in different situations..

She stared at him for another moment before looking back towards her car. Almost immediately he missed having her gaze on him.

Letting out a deep breath he fought with himself to reach out to touch her shoulder, or the top of her head, or at least help her with her wounds, clean her up, or something.

But at the same time he was afraid if he let himself touch her, he would never let go of her.

Instead he nodded once more and forced himself to stand up and walk back to the car steeling his legs as best as he could and hoping to God he didn't make a fool of himself.

**I do not own Supernatural. **

**23/366**

**I do take requests so if you have requests you can send them to me.**


	3. Chapter 3

John worked diligently on the car, a classic '67 Chevy Impala that he knew was a beauty under all that pain.

He was working alone, Chris had been called away to work on a regulars car a bit ago. Brian had managed to convince the lady that he should take her to the hospital and that her car was in good hands.

He worked almost robotically, the image of the woman continued to flash through his mind, finding a new detail each time. The freckles decorating her nose, the blood spatter on her cheek, the green hues in her eyes, the splatting along her throat like...

Fingers that had attempted to strangle her.

His grip tightened on his wrench and he used that as strength to pry the engine apart to look inside of it.

Someone had tried to strangle the woman, most likely after doing everything else to her, beating her to an inch of her life.

How could someone do something like that to anyone? What could she have done to warrant such a beating?

And what did she do to get away from her attacker?

Shaking his head his mind made the image of her hair and what those golden strands would look like without the blood, how they would feel when they were clean and soft.

Taking a slammer sledgehammer he started to run and press it along the side, trying to bring it back to shape before seeing if it should be replaced or could be salvaged.

Straightening up he cracked his back and looked over the rest of the car, trying to categorize from how to continue fixing the car. He would have to take it apart if not to the skeleton then pretty damn close.

Before Chris had to go he had at least helped to remove the doors and had vacuumed the inside to get rid of the glass and dirt.

Every now and then John would shake his head and want to stop, there was no point in trying to reanimate a clearly dead car, but every time the thought entered his mind a flash of her intense and almost burning gaze shot through him and he would start working on the car once more.

He wasn't sure how long it took, the engine scratched and bit him, and at one point it had roared to life while he was still working and he had to have quickly snatch his hands back to make sure that they weren't ripped off.

Soon however, miracles of miracles, the engine was purring a loud rumble he could still feel in his bones that he wasn't sure if he should continue to try to fix it but ultimately deciding to keep it, the sound deciding that it fit the image of the car.

One part down, about a thousand and a half more to go.

Letting out a small breath he went to the driver's seat to turn the engine off, another small point in his mind adding to check the brake and pedal lines, and took the keys out, pocketing them for the time being. Seeing something sticking from the glove compartment and without thinking about it he reached out to open it to push it back. The moment he opened it however the contents fell forward. The back of the compartment had been pushed in and in turn pushed everything out.

Shaking his head he knelt down and started to gather everything, flipping one of the cards over automatically.

He couldn't help but smile, looking down at the smiling picture on the id; he knew she could be beautiful, and glanced at the name.

Gabrielle Smith, a light and pretty name that almost flowed off of his lips. Gabrielle, Gabrielle, Gabrielle.

Still smiling he picked up the rest of the papers and cards, almost everything was laminated and a part of him wishing to know more about her, flipped over the piece, freezing in place.

It was the same picture, but a different id, with a different name and when he brought the first one up again there was a different address on the both of them.

Gabrielle Smith from Orlando, Florida.

Martha Gurrey from San Antonio, Texas.

Staring at the two ids, he knew one had to be fake but both of them looked so real, he tried to make sense of it and with a sense of foreboding glanced at the remaining pile.

It was almost a relief when he opened one to reveal a police badge, that couldn't be fake he reasoned to himself.

He was less certain when the next badge showed an FBI badge and the next was a sheriff's badge. Each with a different name of course.

Heart pumping faster in his chest he looked over the car's damage once more, seeing it through a new eye. Swallowing heavily he looked over the pile once more, he came to a decision.

His friends had always said that he thought with his head but not the one on his shoulders.

Gathering everything into one pile and clutching it tightly in his hands he walked back to the lunch room and looked around.

Spotting an empty cigar box they use to hold the small bits and pieces they found around the stop. Dumping the contents into a separate drawer he placed the ids and papers into the box and brought it back to the car, setting it in the corner of the passenger side.

He breathed out in relief as he pushed it away. Out of sight, out of mind. That was the only thing he had to avoid, simple as anything.

Hours later, however, as he finally made his way over the car and got to the trunk. He had to use a crowbar, it was jammed shut, and using his weight and strength to finally force it open with a pop.

Smiling at a small piece of a job well done he placed the crowbar down to lean against the bumper he opened the trunk to peer inside.

Only for his mind to stop working and promptly shut down down almost completely. He automatically brought the hood down and stared straight ahead.

After making sure no one was paying attention to him or the car he slowly opened it once more, hoping that he had been seeing things and that he hallucinations was gone this time around.

As he peered into the trunk once more, feeling his stomach churn more and more, his mind blearily started to realize just how the woman, whatever her name was, had gotten away from her attacker.

He had never seen an arsenal like this out of the marines. The solder inside of him twitched and sparked to life for the first time in months, fingers itching to try out one of the guns he saw. Maybe the shotgun, the double barrel. There was what looked like a homemade sawed off and more than a few revolvers. A black container was thrown to the side, spilling the white contents over everything. He swiped his thumb through it and licked at it, wrinkling his nose when he tasted salt.

A bag was open, bullet like shapes skewed over and he picked one up, examining it with a critical eye. It almost seemed like bullets for the shotgun, but the whole inside didn't make sense.

Out of morbid curiosity John pocketed the bullet to examine closer later and continued to look over the rest of what he could see.

There were knives and machetes of various sizes, there were brass knuckles and bars, each seemingly made of iron. Blood was splattered along a few of the weapons. Some of them had blood only slightly strained, showing how new they were while others had blood stains faded and looking almost rusted over to show their age.

He wasn't sure which one was scarier.

Or which one sent a thrill through him.

"John! What're you lookin' at?" Chris called out, coming to him and wiping oil stains off of his hands.

John didn't even hesitate, closing the trunk softly and carefully.

"Looking to see if she had a spare tire we could use, she don't." he answered.

**I do not own Supernatural. **

**26/366**

**I do take requests so if you have requests you can send them to me.**


	4. Chapter 4

Mary refused to leave until she was sure that her girl was taken care of and that she wasn't in any danger of being disassembled and sold. Even then as she finally accepted the ride that the stations owner, Brad or Brian; she hadn't paid attention and the slight ringing in her ears had made it hard to hear, had kept pressing her to the emergency room.

She sat gingerly in the seat of his passenger side of his pickup truck and pulled at her shirt, the fabric sticking to the clotted blood and pressing against the cut in her side.

She ignored the looks Brad/Brian kept shooting her and felt along her ribs to try to figure out the damage, picking out the dried blood in her hair, and just trying to make herself look presentable as possible and failing spectacularly at it.

Maybe if her face wasn't so beaten in it would've been a bit easier.

"Who did this to you?" Brad/Brian asked gently. "Whoever it is, you don't deserve it. They have no right to hit you like this."

Thomas Haynes, died age thirty two. A drunk in life who had a habit of beating his wife and kid. Killed by his wife with a frying pan and carving knife. Has a habit of beating and killing any woman with the same blonde hair as his ex wife.

Salted and burned six hours ago.

After knocking her unconscious and spending over three hours basically torturing her. She never had a ghost hunt like this where the ghost was so physical.

Logically Mary had known that she should get help first, the car wasn't going to get worse with time but she would. The more time that passed would be worse for her but she just...she needed to...her car was more important, plain and simple. She didn't care what happened to her, so long as her car was okay.

She knew it was an idiotic notion and belief but she couldn't help think that if the car was alright and alive then she was going to be alright as well.

She could almost hear her parents in her ears, lecturing her about proper use of tools and keeping her body in good shape, her body was an irreplaceable tool while the car was easily replaceable, priorities first Mary.

She pushed the voices out of her mind and focused on her wounds, it was less painful.

* * *

Mary had stopped listening to the doctor after he told her about the cracked rib, somewhere in between the fourth and the seventh thing that was wrong, and she didn't even bother to listen to the social worker after she introduced herself.

Tuning out the woman's voice she focused on the drugs that were slowly making their way through her system and wondering what the hospital was serving for lunch.

"Ma'am? Did you hear me?" the social worker called.

Mary blinked and focused on her once more.

The lady was clutching her glossy brochures to her chest, eyes wide and slightly tear filled, staring at her so earnestly that it made Mary's stomach churn slightly.

She hated that look Mary realized. Hated how the woman was looking at her with so much pity in her eyes, hated how she kept talking about abusive households and how Mary didn't have to take it.

Hated how despite everything she still couldn't get out of the situation despite what the lady was saying.

"Listen," Mary said with a sigh, cutting off the lady mid sentence. "I have a headache the size of Texas right now, is there some way we can cut this short?"

The woman's eyes widened, Mary hadn't even thought that was possible, and she nodded rapidly. "Of course." she said in her almost too chipper tone. "Of course, I'll come back tomorrow when you're feeling better. I'm just going to leave these here." she placed the brochures on Mary's lap. "For you to read through."

She reached out to hug her, Mary had to fight herself for a moment to push her away, before she finally left.

Rubbing her forehead Mary glanced down at the brochures and started to put them to use, by folding them into airplanes and throwing them to see how far they go.

Her thoughts went to her car, she wasn't worried about the car, her girl was in good hands, thankfully, but she wasn't so sure about everything she had inside. Her weapons, her ids, everything she basically owned, most of which is illegal.

Mary carefully folded the paper, pulling it slightly to get it into place.

It wasn't the first time she was in this situation to be honest, not to this scale true but every time was almost the same as the last. She knew how to get out of these situations, who she had to bribe, and who needed a little bit of extra encouragement to keep their mouths shut.

Worst comes to worst she could always call some of her cousins to come down and help her.

Rubbing her fingers against her battered ribs she leaned back in the bed and threw the rest of the brochures onto the connecting table, already tired of folding.

Worst case scenario, she'll get arrested. A corner of her mind started to calculate the years she would get in prison before she forced herself not to think about that. Maybe something more pleasant like beheading a vampire or exorcising a demon.

Logically she knew it would be better to stay in bed and rest, maybe even just to go straight to sleep. But she was too wired up from just about everything, her nerves jumping and every time she looked towards the door she half expected to see a police officer there.

She just hoped they will fix her car at least before they called the police on her.

* * *

John wasn't entirely sure why he hadn't called the police, or at least told Brian, about what he had seen in the woman's trunk as of yet. Instead he had spent as long as the entire day on trying to salvage as much of the car as possible and had started slowly growing list of parts they would need to order.

Handing the list to Brian he started with the parts that they did have, working first from the back to make sure that the trunk remained standing to hide everything he found properly.

Wiping his arm over his forehead he rolled himself from under the car and sat up, trying to get the kinks out of his back and glanced up when he saw Brian walking towards him, paper in hand.

"Here," he said handing it to John. "Approximate cost for the little lady's car."

Giving a nod of thanks John accepted the paper and glanced at the bottom for the total, freezing when he saw the value and blowing out a small breath. "Holy."

Brian nodded. "I didn't even include hours needed to work on it or anything else. Before we order anything we need to tell her and make sure she can pay. I'd feel a lot better if we have at least half up front so it's not a complete loss if she can't pay it all."

John nodded, glancing at the paper once more and smoothing it out with his fingers. "What hospital did you take her to?" he suddenly asked.

"Lawrence General, closest one." Brian said, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Why do you ask?"

He shrugged, choosing not to answer and glancing at the list once more.

A beat passed before Brian carefully said, "She wasn't able to talk when I got her checked in, she's under the name 'Jane Doe'." his shoulder nudged at Johns arm. "I don't think she's going to be able to come here anytime soon and she really does need to see the costs."

John couldn't help the small smile that appeared on his face and his toes curled involuntarily in his boots at the thought of seeing her again.

Brian chuckled and nudged at John once more. "Go get her soldier."

**I do not own Supernatural. **

**27/366**

**I do take requests so if you have requests you can send them to me.**


	5. Chapter 5

It was less nerve wracking when he had been shipped to Vietnam than walking through the hospital. He was at least thankful that he had taken the time to change out of his overalls into a clean white shirt and at least his jeans were stain free. He had considered going home to shower as well but he lived on the opposite side of town and Brian was expecting an answer before they closed for the night.

Reaching the room he had been directed to, the door was open, and his eyes fell on the woman who was standing in front of the window just staring out. She was wearing a hospital gown with an equally white robe to cover the cut in the back.

Licking his lips he cleared his throat and rapped his knuckles against the doorway. The woman seemed to tense up before she brought her shoulders back and faced him.

She was cleaned of blood and carefully bandaged. There were hints of bandages over her arm, peeking out on the side around her chest and upper stomach, her leg, neck, and wrapped around her head and one eye. Her now clean hair fell softly to her shoulders looking softer than silk. Her only currently visible eye widened at him and she didn't say a word.

"I'm here to, uh...I needed to..." he hadn't stumbled over his words in years goddamnit. "Here." he said, taking the paper out of his pocket and all but thrusted it at her. "You need to see that."

She blinked and reached out, gingerly taking the paper from him and glancing down at it.

"Costs." he helpfully, moronically a corner of his mind told him, supplied. "For what we need to fix the car, she's badly beaten, we almost need to rebuild her from the ground up."

The woman didn't say a word, her eye on the bottom of the paper no doubt at the total cost.

"It really will be better for you to just scrap it and get a new-"

"No."

Just like before it was brisk, to the point, and make John's stomach flip.

He wondered how she would sound without malice and without anger.

He wondered what she would sound in pleasure.

John swallowed heavily and nodded, extending his arm to take the refolded paper from her. He had hoped for a moment that her fingers would brush against his but was disappointed when they didn't. He slid the paper back into his pocket.

"We're...we're going to need half, at least." he told her. "Before we order anything."

She nodded once more and then wrinkled her nose, seemingly in thought.

John stayed quiet, not wanting to break her out of her thoughts.

"I need to get to my car." she finally said. "I can pay half now, I'll have my family wire me the rest."

At the mention of the car John suddenly remembered everything he had seen in the trunk and all those fake ids, not to mention the strange bullet that almost felt like it was burning a hole in his pocket.

He tried to find his tongue once more, find the man who was able to flirt with a girl at the drop of the hat, and managed to speak in what at least he hoped was a cool calm voice.

"So, question." he said, leaning against the doorway and reaching into his pocket. He curled his fingers around the metal and before he realized what a bad idea it was he threw it through the air at her.

He broke composure for a moment and flailed as he tried to quickly walk forward and grab it but he didn't have to. Her hand snapped forward and easily snatched it out of midair, moving it to hold it in between her fingers to look at it.

He stared at her in almost wonder as he straightened up, breathing heavily for a moment.

Her eyes moved from the object up to John once more and even though it was hidden John swore that she was raising her eyebrow at him.

"You had a question." she prompted, reminding him.

John blinked and remembered what he wanted to know. He nodded to the object in her hand. "What is it?"

She glanced back at the item and twirled it around her fingers. "What does it look like?"

"Well judging by the fact of everything else I saw in your trunk," John said with a small shrug. "I don't know what to think."

Something passed over her face too quick for him to see and then it carefully smoothed out, leaving it blank. "You saw my trunk." she stated.

John nodded, leaning back against the wall.

"Then figure it out," she said, throwing it back to him easily. He wished he caught it as smoothly but fumbled for a moment before he had it in his palm once more.

He turned it over in his hand, using his thumb to roll it before his mind finally made the connection.

"It's a bullet." he finally said, staring at the white pieces inside. "But...what's inside?"

A corner of her lips lifted slightly. "Take it apart, look inside." she said simply.

John threw her a small look but focused on the bullet. It was too tightly closed to a point that he couldn't see an edge to pull on to open it. He tried to squeeze it to try to open it but neither plastic casing or metal ridges budged one bit.

"Gonna need to have my tools for this." he admitted placing it back in his palm. he glanced up at her. "I've seen the trunk, I've seen your...badges." he told her, her eyes widening slightly. "Anything else I should know about?"

She seemed to think for a minute. "Under the car near the middle. I strapped a bomb that's set to go off if you put too much pressure against it."

John felt the blood drain out of his face and his heart stopped, especially when he took under consideration the fact that he had spent the better part of his day under the car.

"...I'm kidding." she said, looking as if she was fighting a smile. "There's nothing else to look out for."

He slowly let out a deep breathed, feeling his heart rate gradually slowed down. this woman...she was going to end up giving him a heart attack, one way or another.

A slow burning heat curled in his stomach.

**I do not own Supernatural. **

**28/366**

**I do take requests so if you have requests you can send them to me.**


	6. Chapter 6

"Alright." he said slowly, letting a deep breath out as he calmed down. "Why do you have all these things?"

"Personal reasons." she said curtly and simply.

"Why does one person need to have a complete arsenal?" John pressed. "What are you so afraid of?"

"Communists." she said promptly. "They're everywhere."

"I fought them, I know." John said, unable to keep from rolling his eyes.

An eyebrow rose. "You served?" she asked, her first question.

"Yeah." John nodded, squirming in place for a moment as he remembered. "Vietnam."

She gave a slow nod. "Cousin of mine went to Korea. Never came back."

It was too familiar a story for him, he'd seen more soldiers dead on the battlefield than returning home.

"I'm sorry for your loss." he said automatically, he had said it so many times but he still meant it every time.

She shrugged. "It was his choice, he knew the danger." her fingers tugged at the ends of the bathrobes sleeves and said quietly, "Doesn't make it hurt less."

Johns fingers twitched and he was almost buzzing with the desire to touch her, offer her some sort of comfort.

She shook her head and seemingly seemed to snap out of her thoughts. "You went willingly or were you drafted?"

"I enlisted, wanted to do something good for my country." John said. "Came back alive and in one piece, what more can I ask for?"

The corner of her lips twitched once again. "Can't close your eyes at night, huh?"

John blinked. "What?"

He could almost see the amusement on her despite the fact that she wasn't smiling. "Can't close your eyes at night." she repeated. "Because every time you do, you see them." She paused for a moment. "Which do you sleep with, the knife or a gun?"

He almost felt detached from himself as he said in a low voice. "Knife." he had to clear his throat twice to get out the rest of his words. "Due to a few...mishaps with some of the soldiers, we're no longer allowed to take our guns when we leave."

She chuckled for a moment and then looked at him. Even though she had the one eye for the time being he swore she winked at him.

"Well if you're in need of a gun." she drawled out. "I can give you one of mine."

Now he was amused. "And what am I going to do with a gun?"

She shrugged. "Might sleep a bit better at night, I don't sleep well unless I have a gun in my hand under the pillow and a knife tucked into my mattress."

The amusement fell away then. "What are you so afraid of?" he asked softly. "Are you running away from someone? The mafia?"

A small snort escaped her lips. "No, the mafia," she sounded like she was choking back laughter at the word, "isn't what I'm afraid of."

"Then what?" John couldn't help but ask. "Do you need help? We can always go to the police."

"And first off show them my trunk filled with weapons." she asked, raising her eyebrows. "No thank you."

John stared at her almost helplessly. "I want to help you." he said quietly. "How can I help you?"

The amusement was back. "You want to know how you can help me?" she asked. She leaned forward and he unconsciously mimicked her. "You can help by fixing my car soldier."

John felt a small stab of frustration and a small bit of almost pride for how stubborn she was.

"Y'know I could always go to the police for you." he said easily.

"You could," she agreed with a shrug. There was a flash of teeth as she grinned. "But if you were going to, you would've already."

Point to her John had to concede, he gave a small nod and shrug. Glancing at the clock, he straightened up. "I need to get back." he said regretfully.

Her hand came up and she gave him a mock salute. "I'll try to stop by either tonight or tomorrow to pay half." she told him.

He nodded and turned to leave, getting one foot out of the door but paused and said, "My name's John Winchester." one finger tracing the plaster filled wall.

He could almost hear the smile in her words. "Like the gun?"

He rolled his eyes. "Does everything come back to guns for you?"

Definitely laughter, he fought the urge to turn back to see if she was smiling. "Pretty much."

He waited a moment to see if she would return the favor. Trying not to sag in disappointment he started to walk away.

"Mary." she said, her voice pinning him to the spot. "Mary Campbell."

John felt his stomach churn and his heart almost flutter in his chest, his fingers tightening against the wall as the words washed over him.

Mary. Mother Mary. Mary, Mary, quite contrary.

Mary.

He swallowed heavily and nodded, needing to practically pry his feet off the ground and force himself to walk forward and away from her.

Mary.

Swallowing he felt his heart stammer in his chest and felt himself falling, falling fast with no regard or desire to stop.

**I do not own Supernatural. **

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	7. Chapter 7

Mary watched the man, John, leave and sighed. going back to the bed and falling gently into it, curling up with the blanket and pillows, dimly wishing she could have a beer or whiskey. Not with her medications she thought with a snort.

Groaning as she slightly jostled her wounds she turned onto her back and stared at the ceiling, mind wandering.

She could pay half the bill, but that would take the bulk of her savings and she couldn't afford to spend all of it. At least the hospital bill would be covered by insurance, she thought wistfully.

She could call her cousins and maybe her parents would be willing to wire her some of the money. The rest of the bill she was going to have to get the old fashioned way; hustling pool, bets, cards, and however else she could hustle.

Her hands came up to the bandages on her face. Either she needed to heal up quickly or she would have to try to make it work to her advantage, a great deal depended on what kind of people were in this town.

Sighing, she wiggled her toes and used her hands to shake out her hair, not trusting herself with shaking her head just yet.

Glancing over her body once more she reached out to hit the call button for the nurse.

No time like the present after all.

* * *

John almost felt like he was walking on clouds as he all but drifted through his work, under Brian's instructions he had to leave the car, Mary's car a corner of his mind corrected, and work on a Lincoln but he couldn't help glancing up every few seconds to ensure that the car was there and no one had tried to do anything with it.

The strange bullet sat heavy in his pocket, reminding him of the secret in the car and Mary herself.

The curve of her lips, her thin fingers, her hair almost cascading down her shoulders.

He wondered what a real laugh from her sounded like. What it would sound like saying his name.

And he wasn't so modest as for his mind not to go wondering just what she would sound like, look like, moaning and writhing on his bed.

A nudge of his shoulder broke him out of his thoughts. Blinking a few times he glanced up and met the smirking face of Chris.

"You got that look in your eyes." Chris dwalded, his own eyes twinkling. "You're smitten John, you've had that look over since the little lady stumbled outta her car."

Ducking his head to hide the sheepish grin that spread over his face John busied himself with changing the oil.

"Don't be shy 'bout it, you're a grown man, she's a grown lady." Chris said with a laugh. "And if I remember right, I didn't see no ring on her finger."

He remembered her hands and fingers too, long and thin, fast reflexes as she plucked the bullet out of the air. He had seen a few calluses on them as well, most likely from her guns and knives and whatever she did with them.

A whistle broke through his thoughts, snapping him back to reality. Chris was whistling the wedding chapel march with a smirk.

"The mere mention of her gives you more stars in your eyes than are in the sky." Chris said dryly. "You even know her name?"

"Mary" John said, the name slipping out before he could even think about it. "Her name is Mary."

Chris was more than just amused now, a wider grin on his face. It faltered however as he asked, "She tell you who did that to her too?"

John felt his stomach twist at the reminder as he silently shook his head, wiping the oil reader with a rag before putting it back into his pocket.

Chris drummed his fingers against the car for a moment before sighing and shaking his head. "God help the poor bastard that did it." was all he said as his hand seemingly unconsciously went up to and covered his side for a moment.

Opening his mouth to ask John was cut off before he could talk by Brian exclaiming "Miss!"

Glancing automatically he felt his stomach drop and his heart sped up as he saw her, Mary, walking into the shop and going straight to her car.

Chris made a soft, almost wounded sound in the back of his throat at the sight of Mary heavily bandaged. "Poor lass." he nudged at John once more. "Don't just stand there with your mouth open, go help the girl."

Nodding John almost tripped over his own feet before straightening up and carefully walking to her.

"Mary." he said in greeting, relishing how her name off of his tongue. "Why aren't you in the hospital?"

She glanced at him and turned her attention back to her car as she reached out to open the trunk. "Nothing to do there but lay in bandages, I can do that more comfortably in a motel. She answered. "And I have things to do."

"All you need to do is heal." John said. "You're hurt."

Mary gave a snort as she rummaged through her trunk, John's hand coming out to hold it open for her. He still had a small thrill go through him at the sight of the weapons. There was amusement in her eye when she glanced up at him.

She grabbed a small bag and pulled it out, letting it fall at her feet as she also took out a small metal box as well. When she was pulling it out however her pinkie finger pushed a small gun towards him.

Eyes widening he looked up at her only to see her watching him curiously. Silently he carefully shook his head ever as his fingers twitched and ached with the urge to pick it up.

Shrugging slightly she tucked the box under her arm and closed the trunk. Taking the strap of the bag in hand she started to drag it against the ground and towards Brian's office.

Without thinking John leaned down and tried to take the bag from her, his fingers curling slightly around the strap before it was yanked sharply forward and out of his reach.

Looking up he was pinned in place by a dark, almost murderous look on Mary's face.

"I can handle it myself." she said slowly, her eyes narrowing at him. "I don't need your help."

John immediately backtracked, holding both hands up innocently. "I just wanted to help since you're-"

"Since I'm what? Helpless? Weak?" Mary all but demanded. "I'm wounded, not an invalid."

"I know you're not. I didn't mean it like that." John said in what he hoped was a comforting tone. "I'm sorry."

Still glaring at him Mary turned around and walked the remaining distance to Brian's office, continuing to drag the bag with her. Brian shook his head and followed after her, closing the door behind him.

Feeling his stomach drop to the ground John still heard Chris's sigh.

"Bad luck son." he said.

They were in the office for about half an hour, not that John was counting or anything, before the door finally opened and the both of them walked out.

"I'll place the order tonight and it'll take about three to five days for everything to come." he was telling her.

She nodded and twisted her hand in the strap; saying something too quietly for them to hear, however Brian nodded as well to whatever she said, taking to her with his fingers gesturing slightly. Nodding again she slowly made her way out of the shop, still dragging the bag behind her.

John glanced towards Brian who had watched Mary leave with a concerned look. "What did she say?" he couldn't help but ask.

"She asked where the nearest motel and bar are."

**I do not own Supernatural. **

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	8. Chapter 8

He was insane, this was ludicrous and verging on stalking and he swore his mother had raised him with manners, she honestly did, but whenever he thought about Mary everything else was thrown out of the mind, something that only of his mind that was still slightly rational told him that this was a bad idea.

Taking a deep breath he slid his hands into his pockets and pondered his next move. He could ask the people of the desk if a blonde woman had checked in earlier or wait for her to come back to the shop maybe tomorrow.

Patience had never been one of his strongest suits.

"Most people would call the cops." a dry voice said behind him.

John whirled around, his body reacted automatically, to see Mary standing there holding an ice bucket filled with ice and soda bottles against her hip. He swallowed heavily and she raised her eyebrow at him.

"Cat got your tongue soldier?" she asked, shifting the bucket slightly.

"...salt." he finally managed to get out before mentally smacking himself.

She blinked at him and the eyebrow raised again. "Pepper. Your turn."

He shook his head and fumbled in his pocket for a moment before he carefully took the bullet out of his pocket and opened the top. Tipping the contents into his other hand he used his thumb to spread it out.

"Salt." he repeated.

A corner of her lip tilted up once more. She made a motion of a single finger and he followed her to her room. His eyes flickered to the number, 115, and entered the room.

It was a standard motel room with very few touches here and there. What stood out the most were the lines around the window and door. He glanced at the salt in his hand and back at the lines.

"Why salt?" he asked, looking at her. "What's the point?"

Mary sat down on the bed, toeing her boots off as she did. Grabbing two soda bottles she threw one to him and opened hers. "Good luck."

John easily caught the bottle and frowned at her. "Good luck?" he repeated.

She nodded seriously. "It's good luck, keeps away negative energy and keeps me safe."

For a moment John thought she was being serious and considered that she might be one of the liberal hippies who believed in that New Age crap, the same people that called him and all the other soldiers that came home baby killing, war mongering, murderers.

But then he remembered the weapons, how she spoke of her cousin who died in the war, and the almost cynical look in her eyes.

He blinked when he realized she was waving her hand in front of his face.

"You spaced out for a moment there." she said. She stared at him for a moment. "I was joking, that's not what its for."

John felt the tension he didn't realize he had left his body. "Oh."

Mary rolled her eyes. "You need to relax and learn proper joking and sarcasm."

He glanced at the salt again. "What is it for then?" her eyes looked at him and for a moment he felt as if he was being scrutinized and measured.

"You won't believe me even if I tell you." she finally said.

John straightened up and looked at her straight, shoulders rolling back, and hands at his back. "Try me."

She considered him, her eye looking him over from head to foot, and leaned back against the bed. "Oh soldier John," she murmured. "You left the country to fight a war but there's a whole war happening here right at home."

"Against the communists, they're already here, aren't they?" John said confidently. He knew it.

Her lips quirked upwards once more. "No, not the communists."

John frowned at that, his mind racing as he tried to figure out whatever other enemy there was.

"Hippies?" he tried.

There was a twinkle in her eyes, amusement he realized.

"Stop thinking like that soldier." she murmured. "You need to open your mind a bit more than that."

"I don't ...I don't understand." he finally said.

Mary nodded and he saw her chewing on the inside of her cheek. Her hand came up to lightly touch the bandages on her head.

"If I tell you," she said in a thoughtful voice. "That this," she motioned to her battered and bruised body. "Happened because of a ghost, what would you say?"

John blinked at the insanity of that statement. "I would take you back to the hospital because obviously you hit your hard harder than you thought."

There was a cynical smile on her face and John realized he had failed something.

"Yeah," she said, laying back on the bed. "I guess I did then."

John stared at her incredulously and in silence for a few moments.

"A ghost." he finally said. "You're expecting me to believe in ghosts did this."

"I don't expect you to believe anything, obviously I hit my head too hard and am now spouting nonsense." Mary said dryly.

"You wouldn't have said that if you don't believe that." John said after a moment, just staring at her. "And if you hit your head that hard the hospital wouldn't let you go."

Mary shrugged. "Who knows, maybe I sneaked out."

He considered her for a long, heavy moment. "Tell me the truth, please."

She stared at him evenly and easily, her single eye pinning him in place and tilted her head slightly. An unreadable look appeared on her face as she considered him.

"Go home soldier John." she finally said. "You already fought your war. Let the other soldiers fight the battle."

John straightened up and easily met her eye once more. "Once a soldier, always a soldier." he intoned firmly. "Just because I'm home doesn't mean I'm done fighting."

She slowly stood up and walked over to him. His body almost reacted automatically as he froze the moment she leaned in closer to him. Breathing in deep he caught the scent of antiseptic, rubbing alcohol and underneath just a hint of strawberries and flowers.

Her hand went to his and he marvelled at the softness of her hand even with the callouses that he recognized that came from holding guns. Her fingers slowly pulled at his until his hand relaxed and she took away the salt filled bullet that he hadn't even realized he was still holding.

"Lay the gun down soldier." she murmured. "At ease."

She moved to pull away and he acted on instinct, his own hand snapping out and wrapping around her arm to keep her close.

"Tell me." he insisted, not letting go or looking away from her. "I want to know."

**I do not own Supernatural. **

**32/366**

**I do take requests so if you have requests you can send them to me.**


	9. Chapter 9

Mary blinked at him, an empty, no, unreadable expression on her face.

"A ghost took me and beat me to an inch of my life because I look like the wife he beat to death when he was alive.." she said in an unwavering voice, her eye daring him to laugh.

John swallowed heavily and with great reluctance let her go. "A ghost." he repeated.

She nodded, not a shred of humor or joking or a hint of that she was lying.

A corner of his mind wondered how she would be playing poker as the rest of his mind whirled at what she had said.

"Why were you trying to get rid of him?" he managed to ask, because that was the important thing to ask at the moment.

"Well one, he was hurting, torturing, and killing people." Mary said dryly. "And because that's what I do."

"What you do." he repeated, he was doing a lot of that lately. "Why?"

"Because," Mary said, bringing her shoulders back and straightening up, looking him straight in the eyes. "I'm a hunter"

"A hunter. And being a hunter," he motioned to her wounded body. "Did this to you."

Her teeth flashed in a hint of a smirk. "It's a dangerous job but someone has to do it."

"Hunting ghosts?" that was the part that needed to be clarified.

Mary shrugged. "Not just ghosts, every little thing that goes bump in the night."

"What, like the boogeyman?" he couldn't help but say, a touch of sarcasm lacing his voice however it failed towards the end when she nodded.

"The boogeyman is a broad term." she said, sitting back on the bed. "But it fits everything quite nicely."

"You can't expect me to believe that." John shot at her, mouth going dry for a moment when she laid back on the bed and stretched, causing her shirt to ride up slightly to reveal a flat toned stomach.

He wondered for a moment how she would look with her back arching in pleasure.

"I'm not telling you to believe anything, you asked, i answers, it's up to you if you choose to believe or not." she said closing her eye and crossing her arms over her chest. "Believe as you wish."

John swallowed heavily. "I don't know what to say to this."

Mary opened her eye to look at him. "You wanted to know." she reminded him. "So I told you. You don't need to say or do anything about it."

"You can't expect me to do nothing about this." John shot at her.

"I don't expect you to do anything." she countered. "There's nothing for you to do."

"But you do, you...get rid of them." John said.

"Because I hunt them, that's what I do." Mary said, shaking her head. "It's my job."

"It's dangerous," he said softly.

"So's life."

Silence fell and they both stared at one another, Mary almost challenging in her gaze.

"It shouldn't be on you to...hunt these things," he said quietly. "It shouldn't be your job."

"Shouldn't have been your job to fight in Vietnam." Mary said back. "Why'd you go to war?"

"I wanted to make a difference, I wanted to protect and serve my country." John defended.

Mary stared him straight in the eyes. "So do I."

John stared right back at her, feeling something deep inside of him stir and come to life, a beast almost raising its head and sniffing the air practically in hope.

"Go home soldier John." Mary murmured. "Go home and go to sleep, forget about what I told you."

"I can't do that."

"Try to bury it with all the nightmares from Vietnam, right next to your knife." she told him. "You've lived your life without knowing this, you can live the rest of it ignoring it."

He wordlessly shook his head. "Living in ignorance," he said quietly. "Is not the way i want to live my life."

"Even if it means getting a full night of sleep?"

John gave a humorless chuckle. "I haven't had a full night's sleep since I got back from Vietnam."

**I do not own Supernatural. **

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**I know this one is shorter but I'm too tired to keep going.**


	10. Chapter 10

John blinked the sleep out of his eyes and knocked back the rest of his coffee, throwing the paper cup in the trash can as he passed it.

After the conversation with Mary he had spent the walk back to his apartment on edge, eyes wide open to try to see beyond the dark of the night. The entire walk his mind played tricks on him and making monsters out of the shadows and trees.

Getting back to his apartment hadn't made it any easier, if anything he was more on edge because he was almost boxed in with no place to run to.

He had listened to the advice he saw her doing, sprinkling a line of salt around the door and windows and had sat in his living room chair with his knife on his lap. He had been so wound up that he couldn't even think of relaxing enough to go to sleep.

He had managed to drift off, small cat naps from which he had been jerked away from the at the slightest noise but ultimately, he hadn't slept all night.

Running a hand over his face he grimaced at the stubble, he needed to shave soon, and judging by the look Chris and Brian were shooting him, he looked worse than he felt.

Trying to focus on his work John felt his head slipping only to immediately try to snap back to wakefulness.

Somewhere around the middle of the afternoon the front door opened and he glanced up automatically, freezing when he realized that Mary had entered the shop.

He really needed to work on his reactions towards the woman, this was getting ridiculous.

But it wasn't really his fault, she was entirely compassing and it was hard to look away, whether he wanted to or not.

She walked straight to Brian and started to talk to him in hushed voices, gesturing to her car which was covered and waiting for the new parts to come in.

Mary sighed and nodded, spotting his eyes she walked over to him. "You look like crap." he told him honestly.

John couldn't help but snort. "Had a bit of trouble falling asleep last night."

"You shouldn't have" she said in slight amusement. "You didn't know about it before and slept just fine."

He shook his head. "Everything's different now."

"Everything is different now because you're letting it be different." she corrected. "You'd sleep not knowing and nothing happened. Don't live your life in fear."

She turned and started to walk away but John moved quickly and grabbed her arm. Her own hand snapped up automatically and grabbed his wrist, twisting it hard enough that he let go.

"I want proof." he said in a low voice to not be overheard by Brian who was glancing at them. "I want to see what you told me."

She stared at him. "Why?" she finally asked. "You're already having trouble sleeping with knowing about it. What do you think is going to happen if you actually see them?"

"I'll be able to see that I can fight them," he said slowly. "I'll be able to know that I can protect myself after I beat one."

Mary blinked slowly at him, a small smile appearing on her face. "You can take the soldier out of the fight but you can't take the fight out of the soldier." she said softly. "I'll think about it."

Disappointment coursed through him. "You don't think I can do it?"

"I don't know you, all I know is that you're a soldier." Mary pointed out. "I've been doing this my entire life and I get this hurt." she waved her hand over her body. "What do you think is going to happen with someone who has no experience?"

"This can't be any more difficult than when I was in Vietnam." John protested. "It was a war over there."

"In Vietnam it was easier, you had one gun and one target." Mary told him. "What I do, there are hundreds of different types out there and each one has a different way of killing it. If you don't know what you're doing, you're going to get yourself and everyone around you killed."

"I can take care of myself."

"It's not you I'm worried about."

They stared at one another in silence, John in defiance and Mary sizing him up.

He almost felt like it was his first day at boot camp and he was lined up for inspection in front of the general again.

And just like before he refused to look away.

A corner of her lips twitched and she leaned back, a small spark in her eye. She shrugged and gave a low chuckle.

"I'll try to find something close by." she told him.

John felt his heart speed up and the excitement of going to battle once more.

"I can't make any promises, but I'll try." she warned him.

He nodded. "Thank you."

Her lips twitched again and she waved away his thanks. "Don't thank me until you're coming back." she told him. She sighed and tugged at the ends of her hair before saying, "Come to my motel tonight, I'll leave a note on the door if I'm not there. We'll talk then."

He barely had time to nod again before she turned and left, slipping out as easily as she had come in.

"Hurricane." Chris said, his voice breaking John out of his trance. "My parents would call a girl like that a hurricane. Comes fast and outta nowhere, destroys everything, makes a mess of everyone's lives, and leaves just as suddenly."

John fought the urge to sigh like a love sick teenager.

"But what a mess," John said softly, shaking his head and going back to work.

**I do not own Supernatural. **

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**I do take requests so if you have requests you can send them to me.**


	11. Chapter 11

John nervously ran a hand over his hair and smoothed down his shirt before he entered the bar. He was no stranger to bars, quite the contrary, but this was one of the exceptions.

He had ended his shift and ran back to his apartment to quickly shower and put on a change of clothes before walking to her motel. Only to find a note on her door giving him directions to a bar about a ten minute walk away.

Entering the bar the familiar scents of alcohol, tobacco, and sweat hit him and he could hear music, people talking, a few televisions playing, and arguments filling the air.

It felt more like a home than his apartment did.

He glanced around the bar for a few moments before spotting a familiar flash of blonde hair.

Making his way through the crowd John was only slightly surprised when he saw Mary leaning against a pool stick and a pair of boys heavily sweating and all but glaring at the table.

John watched as one tried to hit one of the stripped balls, he could hear the cursing from where he was.

Mary elegantly walked over to the pool table, lined up her shot, and sunk it into the hole, followed quickly by a second and a third. He couldn't help but smile at the frustrated yells coming from the guys as Mary straightened up and took a small stack of bills from the side of the table.

Putting them in her pocket he brought her head up and he waved his hand in greeting. She nodded at him and moved through the crowd towards him.

"Glad you could make it." Mary said once she reached him. He wished for a moment to hug her and restrained himself.

"We had an appointment." John said with a small smile. "Why are you here anyway?"

"Making some extra money, I'm good at it so I use it to my advantage." she answered.

John smiled at that and shook his head. "Of course you do." he said as they walked out the bar and he frowned. "You're not supposed to be drinking right now, are you?" he asked as the bartender placed two glasses in front of them.

Mary rolled her eye, he was getting better at figuring out her expressions, and picked up her drink. She pressed her glass to his lips and tilted it enough to him to taste the bubbling drink.

"It's just soda." she said. "I'm not taking chances with mixing painkillers and whiskey."

"Good one." John said with a small laugh as he picked up his glass and gave her a small toast. Her lips twitched again and she returned his toast before drinking deeply from her glass.

"So," he said when they both put their glasses down.

"So." she mimicked, staring at him in amusement.

"Were you able to find something?" he asked, half expecting her to say no.

Mary didn't say anything but her lips twitched in amusement once more.

"I did." she finally said. "Barely but I managed to find something. There is never really a shortage of monsters but it takes time to find their pattern from regular serial killers."

John slowly nodded, a mixture of emotions coursing through him. "Where is it?"

"Three, maybe four hour drive, the next town over." she said. "I have the weapons, I might need to get some more from my trunk, but I got them. What we need to get is a car."

"I got one." John said, his mind going to the car his stepfather had given him that he barely used. It was a small town and walking got him where he needed to on time, he kept it parked next to his apartment building just to know he could go anywhere he wanted to if he needed to .

An escape, a way out.

She nodded and swirled the contents of her glass before drinking from it once more. Clicking her teeth together she nodded once more, seemingly to herself at the moment.

"There's a lot of things out there and each one has a specific weakness, something that can kill them." Mary said. "More often than not, it's something silver that can do a lot of damage."

John nodded as he made the mental note. "So what are we...going after?" he asked.

Mary took a drink of her soda once more and was quiet for a moment. "Well if I'm reading it the right way and seeing what it really is, we're going after a werewolf."

"A werewolf." John repeated, trying to keep his disbelief in check. "And how do we kill a werewolf?"

Mary brought her hand up and positioned her fingers like a gun. "Silver bullets." she made the motion of shooting. "Right in the heart."

So the movies had gotten something right in the end John couldn't help but muse.

"Werewolves are rather simple compared to other creatures." Mary continued. "Just some silver bullets and that's it, there are some things out there that you need to get creative and then some of the ingredients are a lot harder to find."

John slowly nodded at that, not sure of what to say.

Mary stared at him for a long moment. "I know you don't believe in anything that I'm telling you." she finally said. "So why are you bothering?"

John looked away. "Maybe I'm just humoring you for the time being to make sure you don't get hurt," he said.

"I don't need your help and I don't need a rookie on a hunt with me that just wants to make a point." Mary told him. "If I was planning to die, I'd pick something nicer."

"I'm not going to let you die." John protested.

"Again, it's not you that I'm worried about." Mary told him again.

John let out a small breath. "Listen, you have to admit that it's hard for someone to just...believe that. Believe anything that you're saying."

"That's because you've never seen it and therefore you've never seen the proof." Mary said. "I get that this is insane and that it sounds like the ravings of a lunatic, but I've been living this insanity my entire life."

"And where has it got you?" John all but demanded. "I can barely look at you without feeling like I'm in pain, I can't imagine what you're feeling like."

"Then don't look at me." Mary said, rolling her eye.

"That's not the point of this and you know it." John told her. "I know what you have in your trunk, fake ids, weapons, you took a big chance in trusting that I wasn't going to go to the police and I'm willing to bet that it's not the first time."

"That happens less often than you think, most of the time I have the chance to clear my car out." Mary said. "Besides, I live dangerously, why not add something else into the equation."

"You don't have to do this, you don't need to live so recklessly." John insisted. "I came home from the war and I'm living a normal life."

Mary stared at him. "Did you?" she asked.

John stopped at that. "Did I what?"

"Did you really leave the war?" Mary asked. "Did you really come back home?"

John felt like he had swallowed a block of ice at that question.

"Yes." he lied. "I did."

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